


An Antichrist to Spare

by Lerry_Hazel



Series: SN_GO [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley are Warlock Dowling's Parents, Baby Jack Kline, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Dimension Travel, Episode: s12e08 LOTUS, Episode: s12e17 The British Invasion, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Fake Science, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Parallel Universes, Post-Canon, made-up angel lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23717437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lerry_Hazel/pseuds/Lerry_Hazel
Summary: A capricious deity on fast track to tragic ending would leave Lucifer’s son to grow up twenty years two seconds after being born; a well-meaning Antichrist would make sure Lucifer’s son was never born at all. Good thing God still has an Ineffable Plan.NOT a sequel to “Little Hellspawn”.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Castiel & Kelly Kline (Supernatural), Kelly Kline & Warlock Dowling, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: SN_GO [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708090
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Half-way through writing “Little Hellspawn” I suddenly realised there was a much more obvious point to connect the “Good Omens” and “Supernatural” universes: that is, the birth of Lucifer’s son. So I was going to write a small drabble about grown-up Warlock Dowling being the one to pick up newborn Jack walking naked along the highway. And then it occurred to me that May 18 happens almost exactly nine months after August 20, and the tiny crack was enough for my other headcanons to crawl in and make a cosy nest.  
> So now this fic has proper teenage Warlock and actual baby Jack. And Aziraphale and Nanny Crowley, because, come on, satanic baby. And Cas and Kelly, because she didn’t deserve to die. And Anathema and Newt, because they are adorable. And one other “Supernatural” cameo.  
> No Sam or Dean, though – because 15x06 killed whatever hope for canon-ish Destiel I had still clung to. 
> 
> THAT IS TO SAY,
> 
> This story is, once again, NOT a sequel to “Little Hellspawn”. Just another, significantly less fluffy and more self-indulgent crossover. Read at your own – even greater – risk. 
> 
> Still here? Well, you've been warned ;-)

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**

***

The view was almost disgustingly perfect: a former antichrist running through an endless field awashed in orange sunset, a witch nested cosily in a witchfinder's arms and a small fire merrily feasting on the remnants of Agnes Nutter's second book.

'Oh, joy, now I'll have to do it all over again,' Atropos sneered, kicking the ash with the tip of her sensible shoe. 'Behold, mortal, I call on your Pythia blood.'

***

'It's so unfair,' Anathema cried out, her eyes wide and furious. 'When I said I wasn't going to live by Agnes's guidelines anymore, I didn't mean I wanted to get prophetic visions of my own!'

She paused to run her hands through her gorgeous locks and then took off her glasses in order to have something to fidget with:

'And, anyway, I was taught that Agnes spoke in riddles because there was no other way for her to describe present-day realities, but, apparently, this shit really is this cryptic!'

The huge demonic snake that had draped itself over the back of the ratty sofa to freak Newt out produced an unmistakable scoff despite supposedly lacking the necessary anatomical equipment.

‘Oh, none of that,’ the blond teddy-bear-like book owner scolded, not looking up from where he was fussing over a beautiful antique tea set to hide his fond smile. ‘Don’t mind the wiley old serpent, my dear,’ he continued in soothing melodic voice, ‘I’m positive we can figure it out. Just tell us what you saw, in as many details as you can remember.’

Anathema put her glasses back on and picked up the cup the supposed angel had just put in front of her: and, apparently, he was really an angel, because the warmth it was giving off instantly made her feel calmer.

‘Well,’ she started, breathing in the delicious aroma of tea she didn’t normally like all that much, ‘there was a woman. Quite an ordinary one – blond hair, glasses, wearing a suit. Looked like a strict teacher – or maybe a librarian. She also had a book, a very old and thick one, but not a printed book, more like a ledger. It had a golden tasseled bookmark, which looked very untidy, and the woman sort of combed her fingers through it, and – here.’ Anathema held out a somewhat mysterious looking, but very real golden thread.

‘A loossssse end,’ the Snake supplied, after examining it with a flic of his tongue.

‘Most unusual,’ Mr. Fell nodded in the vague way that made it clear to Anathema he didn’t find that particular revelation helpful either. ‘Did the lady in question happen to say anything?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s where the cryptic part comes in.’

Anathema paused for effect and repeated in her best foreboding voice:

 _‘If the real hellspawn is not real anymore, where does that leave the fake one?_ ’

She kind of expected everyone to laugh at her over-dramatic performance. Instead, both the angel and the demon (whose snakehead was still sorely inequipped for facial expressions) suddenly looked profoundly anguished as they whispered in shocked unison:

‘Warlock! We _forgot_ about Warlock!’

‘Who’s Warlock?’

‘The loose end!’ Mr. Fell repeated, some grave meaning now clearly behind the cryptic words. ‘If Adam had never been the Antichrist and had always been the Youngs’ son – ‘

The Snake dropped on the floor, swiftly turning into Mr. Crowley from Tadfield Airbase – except not even when facing Satan himself did he look so terrified – and started frantically checking his phone:

‘Yes, then the Dowlings’ child had never been replaced by the supposed Adversary, and – Where is our baby, angel?!’

‘Aren’t you guys, like, supernatural beings?’ the largely forgotten Newt peeped in. ‘Can’t you just, I don’t know, use your powers to find him?’

‘Don’t be stupid! Of course not!’ Crowley spat out angrily, never taking his still snake-like yellow eyes off the screen.

‘What he means,’ Mr. Fell clarified distractedly, scanning his numerous shelves for potentially helpful books, ‘is that as soon as we realised Warlock was not, in fact, the Antichrist, we took measures to conceal his location from all angels and demons, ourselves included, just in case our superiors would try to – oh my God, what if the golem didn’t hold? Or what if he decided to go to Megiddo anyway: it would be just like your child to check out a Duke of Hell – ‘

‘– and try to befriend him!’ Crowley snarled back just as accusingly, and then paused to rub his temples at the discomfort of accessing memories from alternative timeline. ‘But no, I remember Hastur complaining quite vividly. The golem worked just as planned.’

‘Which, hopefully, means that Warlock followed your instructions to stay hidden until we contact him,’ the angel murmured uncertainly, his eyes still wide in distress.

‘Except we have no way to do so!’ Crowley cried out in rage, throwing his phone across the room, where in nearly shattered on the opposite wall, but thought better of it and holed up under a massive antique desk instead. ‘For somebody’s sake, it is not a frivolous miracle that backfired, the entire reality has been rewritten! He could end up literally everywhere: the other side of the world! Alpha Centaury! Heaven! Hell! The Empty! God only knows what happens to people who get crossed out of the Great Plan.’

His body folded brokenly, leaving him curled into a tight ball of distress right where he had been standing, hiding his face in his knees. Mr. Fell dropped the pile of books he had assembled and rushed to embrace his partner, trying and failing to hold back tears. Anathema felt her own eyes well in sympathy, when, surprisingly, it was once again Newt’s voice that broke the resulting oppressive silence.

‘Actually,’ he hummed pensively, reaching out but not quite daring to touch the golden thread still lying inconspicuously in the middle of the table, ‘I don’t think God is the only one who knows.’

***

‘You didn’t ssssssee any winged people descending from the ssssky, they didn’t assssk you any weird quesssstionssss, and – ‘ Crowley suddenly lost interest in the dazed park ranger and strode purposefully deeper into the thicket, serpentine tongue sticking out between human lips.

‘ - and in thirty seconds you will wake up, and you will have had a lovely dream about whatever you like best. Bye,’ Aziraphale dutifully recited, and then snapped his fingers for good measure. ‘I hope you end up somewhere nice. Not that this lovely grove is not nice enough,’ he elaborated with an apologetic nod to surrounding lush vegetation as he hurried after his demon, ‘but I don’t really understand why the spell would take us here. There is no way our boy could have walked this far from the Dowling estate – ‘

‘Oh, pleassse, Angel, you think I never noticed you sssneaking out to teach him how to use public transssport and pick up people sssafe to asssk for help?’

‘Well, my dear, I am also not unaware of you teaching young Warlock to look old enough to blend in, or to make people disregard his presence in places a child has no business being, not to mention to drive a car, but I fail to see how any of it is relevant: there is no reason for Warlock to want to get here in the first place. There is nothing unusual here!’

‘Excccccept fot thissssss,’ Crowley deadpanned, stopping abruptly and bodily turning Aziraphale to face slightly off the trail – where a rift in the fabric of the universe was sitting unassumingly, glowing golden in the upcoming dusk.

***

**

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so here comes the “Supernatural” part of the crossover. It’s Kelly’s POV, and for now she is understandably not happy with Castiel, but they’ll eventually reconcile. The Winchesters, however, are not going to come along: once again, NO DESTIEL in this story. 
> 
> Also, as I should have mentioned earlier, no characters are mine, blah-blah-blah.

*

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***

Kelly had felt the Presence from the very beginning: it was, in fact, what had made her buy a pregnancy test before she felt any actual symptoms. She had written it off as wishful thinking, or, maybe, something all future mothers experienced. Anyway, there had been nothing specifically supernatural about it: at least until a voice, seemingly unheard by the strange men watching the Bible burn under her touch with grim satisfaction, rang through the room, surprisingly twangy, and young, and – British?

‘Nonsense! Some people can't drink milk – doesn't make them evil. That's just an allergy. My nanny has one too.’

The fire died out as abruptly as it had started, and the self-proclaimed “Angel of the Lord” threw the book into the trash.

“Now, that,’ the boyish voice pointed out disdainfully, ‘was not nice.’

***

The incident still felt pretty insignificant compared to what happened next, and, as she was standing in the cafe's tiny bathroom thoroughly washing her hands and face to win herself a few extra moments away from the angel's sanctimonious preaching, Kelly was simultaneously unsurprised and completely unprepared to see an extra image in the mirror.

She blinked water out of her eyes and turned around slowly, half expecting for the figure to either disappear or turn into something monstrous, but he was still there: not even trying to seem real, more than half-way transparent as he was, but otherwise a perfectly normal pre-teen boy: awkwardly tall for his age, dark hair cut fancifully enough to annoy one's parents, unnecessarily smart outfit worn with practiced resignation she quite often saw in her colleagues’ kids.

‘Are you him, then?’ Kelly asked tentatively. ‘My son?’

‘What? No,’ the specter frowned. ‘I mean, I don't think so, but maybe I'm supposed to be, now. I think I died, only, not really. Anyway, it doesn't matter right now. You know you have to get away from him, right?’

‘You sound awfully unsure of yourself,’ Kelly answered, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. ‘Why should I listen to you?’

‘You don't have to listen to anyone – that's what free will is about. However, when you are in over your head, asking for help is not a weakness, but a good strategy. And the most available option is not necessarily the best one. Especially when there is more than your own safety to consider.’

The ghostly boy sounded fairly ridiculous, clearly trying to emulate someone else’s didactic tone, but it didn’t make his point any less valid. Kelly had to work with people who sounded far surer of themselves than they truly felt on daily basis, so she couldn't fail to notice that the angel and his companions seemed awfully confident of how a supposedly unprecedented situation would unfold. And even if some other Lucifer’s offspring had brought on some terrible disaster in the past (which one would expect to have heard about, but, whatever, she wasn’t an expert in mythology), who could say that would be the case again?

‘But it’s Lucifer we are talking about,’ she tried to reason, carefully meeting her interlocutor’s eyes, which were unremarkably grey, not a speckle of red or inhumanly-intense blue. ‘What if all his children are doomed to be evil?’

‘No one is born evil,’ the boy-spirit assured, this time sounding sincerely and profoundly convinced, ‘Lucifer himself started as an archangel. In fact, you have seen his essence – it’s still pure light.’

And, OK, it did make sense, as much as anything could make sense once you had learned supernatural forces were not only real, but literally inside you. Still, Kelly distinctly remembered being happy to find out about her pregnancy before the world turned upside down – even though Jeff, frankly, was not the love of her life and a child would certainly complicate her life career-wise; and she had been taught that abortion is a sin and had never questioned it with the nonchalance of a good girl who never expected to face unwanted motherhood. But when an angel tells you your child is an abomination and getting rid of is the right thing to do – she involuntarily glanced at the wall behind which her distinctly un-angelic trench-coat-clad companion was waiting.

‘Yeah, he’s probably starting to wonder what’s taking you so long,’ the probably-not-her-son’s-ghost nodded, following her gaze. ‘Here,’ he licked his finger and traced a complicated symbol on Kelly's forehead: it burned, unpleasantly but not unbearably, like holding a too hot cup. ‘That should give you about fifteen minutes of going completely unnoticed. Think of it this way: you can always come back if you decide to go through with what they are offering; but you may not get another chance to escape.’

***

‘Alright, start talking,’ Kelly demanded, once she was finally allowed to settle for the night after three bus rides, two long-distance calls on disconnected numbers and a stop at a public library to check out an apparently non-existent bookshop in London. ‘You are obviously not my unborn son – so who are you?’

‘I’m Warlock,’ her ghostly companion shrugged.

‘Is it, like, male witch?’

‘No, that’s my name. I was born in a convent for satanic nuns, but I am perfectly human. Or at least I used to be,’ the half-transparent boy hugged himself miserably, and suddenly there was a security blanket around his shoulders, – or, perhaps, it should be called “the security blanket”: because it was not only just as insubstantial as its owner, but also exceptionally ugly: specifically, it was simultaneously checkered and polka-dotted, with the occasional picture of a winged baby doing various babyish things thrown in for good measure; in other words, it looked like something you wouldn’t willingly touch unless it was a gift from a loved-one.

Kelly gave him an understandably skeptical look:

‘But, if you are not some sort of supernatural creature, how come you can do this?’

‘That would be because I was raised by two of them.’

***

‘You see’, Warlock started, making himself comfortable on the far end of the room’s king-size bed, cross-legged with his ugly blanket covering his lap, ‘eleven years ago a child was born, who was supposed to have the ability to bring on the end of the world. Spoiler alert: that was not me, but, due to some sort of mix-up, that’s what both Heaven and Hell thought. So I ended up with a demon for a nanny and an angel as a family gardener. Frankly, none of them had any idea what raising the Adversary should involve, so Nanny sang me murderous lullabies and Brother Francis – the angel – encouraged me to be nice to all god’s creatures, and both of them just miracled bad things out of my way, because what was the point to teach me to avoid trouble when in to time at all I would be able to bend reality to my will? But then, when I was maybe four, I was invited to a birthday party. It was the first time I got to truly interact with other children. We didn’t get along, and pretty soon they started pushing me around. I didn’t resist, convinced I could crush them all under the heel of my boot, and not wanting to hurt them. Unsurprisingly, my lack of fear made them even madder, so in the end they made me fall down the stairs. Between my guardian angel and guardian demon, before that I had never so much as scrapped my knee, so I’m not sure if I truly broke something, but the pain seemed unbearable. I started screaming, and immediately Nanny and Brother Francis were by my side. Only after one of them had healed me, and the other had cursed the mean kids with severe allergy to chocolate did they realise that they weren’t exactly subtle about their powers – or wearing their disguises, so they had to explain things too me, well, as much as I could understand at that age. Then they had a brainstorming session and concluded that, while I had to make the ultimate choice myself, there was nothing wrong with exploring options, and afterwards we would sneak out to the city to learn how to interact with people and do things the human way. Also, after they had had a chance to think about it, they realised it wouldn’t have actually been a good thing if my abilities had suddenly manifested and I had obliterated half a dozen kids out of existence. So they started lending me small amounts of their powers and teaching me to control them. And I got quite good at it, but never could do anything substantial without their input. It didn’t really bother me, since they seemed more relieved that worried, at least until my eleventh birthday. I could see they expected something to happen then, but it never did. In the end they took me aside and told me I wouldn’t have to decide the faith of the world, which was ultimately a good thing, but they would have to go away for a while to figure out what went wrong. They told me to hide, and not tell anyone, themselves included, where I was, – so that’s what I did, even though I was really disappointed I wasn’t going on a magical adventure. And then, just as I was starting to think it had been long enough and they were to come back soon, the world sort of shifted around me, and I was suddenly by your side – and no one could see or hear me. Until your kid, apparently, decided it needed my help – and then you suddenly could.’

‘The baby is letting you use their powers?’

‘Well, “letting” is, perhaps, a too strong word. I don’t think the little one has enough conscious mind to make a choice yet. But they already have a soul that reaches out for you, yearning to help and protect the most important person in their life, even if they don’t know how. And here I am, trained for years to direct borrowed powers befitting the son of Lucifer. Brother Francis would say that’s Ineffable.’

***

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so Dean does make an appearance in this fic for a few minutes – but only to deliver a couple of dickish comments and be gone for good. Still NO DESTIEL, so if you get upset when your favourite pairing doesn’t work out (like I know I do), consider it your final warning: don’t let my disillusionment with your beloved character(s) ruin your day.

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***

Going into hiding worked relatively smoothly thanks to Kelly’s reluctant familiarity with hotels that would be willing to lodge а single woman under a clearly false name and wouldn’t give up their security footage at the first sight of a fake FBI badge, combined with Warlock’s convenient ability to hide the fact she was starting to show with a short-term illusion, or make ATM machines literally spit out cash the way they only did in movies (‘Well, I did see it in a movie. Nanny helped me figure out the spell when I wanted to try. Of course, Brother Francis made us put everything back afterwards, but I’d say we have an emergency here, don’t we?’). It also didn’t hurt that Warlock’s guardian angel, despite his undercover job as a gardener, chose his passion for obscure occult books to share with his charge, – although manuals on angelic procreation had never, unfortunately, come up in their discussions. There was enough information on Nephilim development after it is born scattered around relatively available texts, but virtually nothing on how to birth one safely. It looked like trying their luck with a human doctor was unavoidable, – even if going under illusion would defy the purpose of the visit, and trying to do so without proper documents could potentially bring on even more unwanted attention.

Nevertheless, for a while it looked like fate was on their side. The doctor conveniently had an opening on timetable the very same day, and didn’t find anything outright suspicious about the fetus, despite his experienced healer’s instinct clearly nagging at him. Kelly didn’t even consider it might be a trap when he called back to, supposedly, discuss her analyses, – and only realised her mistake when the taxi driver was unceremoniously yanked out of the car by a familiar trenchcoat clad figure that jumped in and sped away, resolutely ignoring the older Winchester’s frustrated cry of “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cas?” flying after them.

***

Kelly’s relief at Castiel’s perceived unwillingness to follow the Winchester’s fucked-up plan was short-lived: his rambling explanation made it clear that he didn’t truly object to putting her through a torturous and almost certainly deadly procedure so that the brothers could pretend they didn’t kill her in cold blood, he just didn’t have any qualms about killing her outright to spare them the trouble. Kelly’s assurances that the child inside her was not evil and pleas to have faith in her instincts had no effect, apart from Warlock, somehow unnoticed to their driver’s angelic senses, giving her an “I-told-you-so” glare in the rear-view mirror.

In the course of their wanderings, desperate for a more reliable source of information than an eleven-year-old whose understanding of his (presumably) occult origins came down to “I was delivered straight from Hell in a handbasket”, she would occasionally bring up maybe finding Castiel and persuading him to look at the situation from her point of view. Warlock would insist it couldn’t possibly end well, and she would back off for a while, not truly convinced. Now she could see for herself what her ghostly not-Antichrist had been trying to explain with increasingly complex and confusing metaphors (“The angels’ lack of free will is not like a muscle you can build up; it’s like being colour blind – for a dog: their eyes are not faulty, they are just not built in the same way”). Castiel was an angel, and angels didn’t care about good or evil; nor did they choose what to believe in. Angels who for some reason renounced Heaven’s Great Plan didn’t magically gain the ability to think for themselves, they simply transferred their loyalty – to Lucifer, or one of minor pagan deities, or, if they were (un)lucky enough to meet one, to a particularly (self)-righteous human. So Castiel, while technically opposing the grace-extraction plan, was still doing what he believed would benefit the older Winchester; and what that – Dean, was it? – wanted most of all was Kelly’s certain death before she could give birth to Lucifer’s son. Otherwise, letting the Gate to Heaven disassemble her body seemed pretty stupid: even before reading every book on Angels and Nephilim she could put her hands on, Kelly knew that angelic essence didn’t even need a physical manifestation to survive. Nevertheless, for now there was little choice but to play along: being in no condition to jump out of a moving car, Kelly could only hope she would have a chance to escape once they had reached the mysterious “sandbox”, whatever that was.

***

The woman that had been waiting to attack Castiel by what turned out to be a literal freakin’ sandbox in the middle of an abandoned playground seemed very eager to welcome Kelly’s – or, rather, Lucifer’s – son into the world; but she was also, apparently, looking forward to watching him devour every single living being; and her eyes were of creepy sulfur yellow; and her fake-sweet smile oozed maliciousness; and she outright called Kelly “the container”, so the only reason Kelly was not running away was because deep down she knew if she so much as moved a muscle the two supernatural beings would stop beating the crap out of each other and give chase.

‘I wonder which one of them I’m supposed to root for?’ she mumbled under her breath.

‘Well, if this Dagon is in anyway like Nanny’s boss, we don’t want her to be calling the shots,’ Warlock stated emphatically, and then winced as Castiel lost his grip on his weird cylindrical silvery knife and a vicious cut opened on his already bruised face. ‘It’s strange, considering he is the one who wants you dead, but I’d say the angel is the lesser evil here. Let’s help him now and deal with him when we don’t have a Prince of Hell after us anymore.’

Dagon screamed and broke out in blisters where holy water connected with her flesh, but by no means melted like the Wicked Witch of the West, as Kelly half-expected from the stories Warlock had learned from his supernatural guardians. Nevertheless, the distraction proved to be enough for Castiel to knock the “Prince of Hell” off her feet, pin her down and press his hand to her forehead in a clearly ominous way. Light burst out of his palm, momentarily too bright for human eyes but rapidly dimming to manageable level. Dagon was still screaming, but with every passing second her screams sounded less like pain and more like rage.

‘Why isn’t it working?’ Warlock whispered incomprehensively.

‘I think it is working,’ Kelly replied grimly, unable to look away from Castiel’s hand that was starting to shake, ‘just not well enough. I guess a Prince of Hell is too much for one angel.’

‘What about one and a half angels?’ Warlock blurted out, and Kelly knew she didn’t have time to consider options: the demon had regained enough awareness and was seconds away from breaking the angel’s hold. So Kelly took the few steps towards the middle of the playground as quickly as she could, and resolutely put her hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

Unlike all those times Warlock allegedly borrowed her son’s powers, she could actually feel tremendous amount of energy build up somewhere in her very core and rush to the point of contact, – only, instead of flowing forward through Castiel’s arm, for some reason it caused his entire body to start glowing.

‘Close your eyes!’ Warlock cried out frantically.

She obeyed, but she could still sense an almost unbearable surge of heat from where Dagon’s body had just been; and then she could not.

‘It is safe now,’ a deep hoarse voice deadpanned, and when Kelly tentatively opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Castiel now standing a bit too close in front of her. Blood was slowly disappearing from his no longer battered clothes and face as if an afterthought, and his ethereal blue eyes still highlighted with golden sparkles were gazing at her in reverence. He also seemed to be glowing, both figuratively and literally, and she could just barely discern a shadow of badly maimed wings spread behind his back to shield her from the heat of slowly dying fire that used to be a Prince of Hell.

‘You OK, Cas?’ another deep voice reverberated through the night, and the angel swiftly turned around to put himself between Kelly and what turned out to be the Winchester brothers running towards them, guns out. At least one of Castiel’s wings should has slapped her in the face, but she felt nothing, although she was relatively sure they were still out, as Warlock kept reaching out to something in fascinated horror, not quite daring to touch.

‘Yes, I believe I am, Dean,’ Castiel replied evenly, and, although his back was now turned, Kelly could hear a serene smile in his voice. ‘I’ve been lost for so long, but I’m not lost anymore.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dean frowned and made an impatient gesture with the old-fashioned revolver he still held pointed at his friend’s direction. ‘Come on, let’s take her to the bunker and finally get Lucifer Junior over with.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Castiel said, calmly but firmly. ‘The child is not a danger to us or to the world.’

‘You can’t actually mean that!’ the younger Winchester spoke out, shaking his long mane in confusion.

‘Yes, I do. I have faith. I have experienced the child’s power, and –‘

‘You did what?’ Dean exclaimed indignantly.

‘It’s a little hard to explain on the spot, but you have to trust me – ‘

‘Trust you? Cas, you’re basically a baby in a trench coat! All you do is stumble around half-blind, knocking random things off, and, frankly, I’m tired of cleaning up your messes. So, for once in your life, stick to the plan and get your feathery ass in the car!’

‘If that is truly what you think, then, perhaps, it’s time for us to go our separate ways,’ Castiel choked out after a long pause. Dean immediately perked up and aimed his gun more firmly to the angel’s chest:

‘Hell, no. Whatever that thing did to you, I’m not gonna just let you walk away!’

‘Let me?’ Castiel grabbed the gun out of Dean’s hand and threw it into dense shrub across the playground, where it would take ages to find afterwards. ‘You used to give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you won’t even listen.’

He turned around and carefully touched Kelly’s shoulders. She once again saw a faint outline of ragged wings straining for one torturous flap and barely managed to get a hold on Warlock before both the playground and the Winchesters’ astounded faces faded away.

***

**

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … and, yes, I know I’m taking sides, but I have my reasons. None of them are particularly logical or objective, but the point is, I do have them. So, please, don’t bother pointing out all those cases Dean had been a great guy and Cas the one to betray him. Once again, I know: I’m just ignoring them, because reasons, remember? ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

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***

Despite feeling like a poor excuse for an angel most of the time, Castiel was, in fact, a celestial being, and, as such, could sense Love. He just didn’t see the point, the bland pre-installed heavenly benevolence to all God’s creations and the bitter toxic thing that went on between the Winchesters and sometimes got extended to him being his only options. That is, until he stepped between Kelly Kline and Dagon (which, admittedly, was less about protecting an innocent and more about not letting a Prince of Hell put her hands on a key to unfathomable might), and the human, whose understanding of supernatural forces should have been non-existent, somehow knew to lend him some of the power she carried within her. The feeling of being able to just obliterate the vile creature in front of him was exhilarating, but, contrary to what Dean and Sam must be thinking, it was not the lure of near-omnipotence or another misguided pursuit of reshaping the world into a better place that had put Castiel firmly into Kelly’s corner: what he felt through the connection her touch had initiated was her pure unconditional Love for her son, – echoed in perfect harmonics by the Love the unborn Nephilim felt for his mother.

Afterwards Kelly touched him a lot: to thank for help with little things it only made sense for him to do, to share the peculiar experience of feeling the new life moving under her skin, to urge him to unnecessarily repeat his promise of protection, and with his angelic sight Castiel could see her smile mirrored by even brighter swirls in the iridescent shine of her own soul, while the tiny Sun wrapped in milky haze of Grace that was Jack warmed Castiel’s devastated core with tentative rays of filial Love.

The Nephilim’s affection did little for Castiel’s angelic powers beyond the initial recharge he had mostly used on Dagon right away, but being a guardian gave him back the sense of Purpose he thought he had renounced along with his affiliation to Heaven. And sometimes he was tempted to flash his Jimmy Novak ID or use one of his questionably acquired credit cards, so that Dean and Sam could find him, and let him explain, and understand; but the bigger part of him, which was now devoted to Jack’s safety, knew that the Winchesters would only see another evidence of the enormous power a son of Lucifer should not be allowed to wield, – so he kept a low profile and stalled for time.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Lucifer found them first. A random deserted gas station had no wards and no traps laid, and Castiel knew he didn’t have even a ghost of a chance, that he wasn’t already dead only because his older brother wanted to make him suffer, but he rushed into battle anyway. Every blow connected not only on physical, but on spiritual level, grace leaking out of his wounds along with blood, but Castiel was determined to drag it out, more taunting that actually fighting back and hoping against hope Kelly would have the sense to run, even though by now nowhere was safe. Instead, she was suddenly standing way too close, aiming Castiel’s long discarded sword at Lucifer’s back.

‘No,’ Castiel choked out: picking up an angel’s blade without proper ritual was, in itself, a bad idea on so many levels, and a mere Seraph’s weapon was unlikely to do anything but further enrage the Archangel, yet if it somehow happened to work, the resulting outburst of celestial energy would surely obliterate the attacker. But, of course, Kelly didn’t listen, and Castiel instinctively squeezed his vessel’s eyes shut against whatever terrible thing was coming.

And so he waited. And waited. And waited.

When he finally forced his swollen eyelids open, Lucifer was still looming above, a bloodied fist frozen half-way to Castiel’s already broken nose; the Devil’s – once again Nick’s – face was contorted in rage and disbelief, and a fat shiny drop of damaged grace was welling around the exit wound on the Devil’s chest. Behind them, Kelly was still holding for dear life onto the sword she had very precisely thrust right between Lucifer’s invisible wings, her eyes glowing gold.

Castiel’s blade was not meant for this kind of power, sizzling and melting away and taking its time to build up a deadly enough discharge. Kelly’s human body definitely wasn’t meant for this kind of power, every molecule struggling to get away from the assault: it was only a matter of time before it inevitably crumbled into dust, but if she somehow managed to outlast Lucifer’s seasoned vessel, perhaps it would not be in vain. So Castiel reached out to touch her forehead with his less broken hand, ready to pour every meager scrap of power he had left into urging her fragile flesh to hold on long enough for the raging burn of Nephilim’s wrath to run its course.

Intimately familiar with what a cornered Archangel was capable of, Castiel didn’t expect to last more than a few seconds, yet in fact the onslaught proved unpleasant but not unbearable. It was almost more challenging to keep his own broken vessel in the uncomfortable position required to touch Kelly around Lucifer’s slowly disintegrating body, as if most of the Devil’s powers were somehow syphoned away: which, as Castiel discovered once he gave up on blinking blood and dirt out of his vessel’s eyes, was precisely the case.

With his mortal vision blurry and unfocused, Castiel couldn’t actually see another – smaller – hand joining Kelly’s grip on the sword hilt, but he was suddenly aware of another soul clinging to hers. It had the purity only a young child’s essence could boast, but, unlike Jack’s familiar presence, it didn’t resemble the Sun but a distance star, its light filtered through layers of slight wrongness of not truly belonging to this world, double wrap of almost-but-not-quite angelic protection and heavy distortion of a complex spell that was, apparently, redirecting most of disruptive feedback from Lucifer’s damaged grace somewhere sideways, – which was a cosmic equivalent of holding a lens over an anthill, but for the moment Castiel couldn’t bring himself to care, because it was working!

Lucifer’s vessel went ugly rotten grey, molted into a slimy pile of goo, then disappeared completely, the light of his Grace going out rather anticlimactically. Kelly collapsed on top of Castiel, unconscious but breathing and otherwise unharmed, and for a moment it looked like the worst was over, – but it was not. The awful whining ear-popping tension in the air was still building, and Castiel barely had time to roll over and spread his battered wings in order to cover both Kelly and the unknown child before, with a terrible inaudibly resounding snap, the very fabric of the universe ripped and spat out a Presence.

***

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stories in general are still unrelated, yet, just like in "Little Hellspawn", Castiel might be "incredibly old" by human standards, but still almost three times younger than Aziraphale, not to mention Crowley.

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Whatever was coming out of the rift did not necessarily feel malevolent, – just overwhelming.

In fact, it might even be primarily angelic in nature, but with some somber vicious undertones perfectly blended in, rendering the entire mixture more voluminous, sophisticated and all-encompassing: not unlike the wards safeguarding the soul of the unknown child, – who was currently wiggling from under Castiel’s wing and running towards the menacing orb of unbeknown power with a delighted shriek of “Nanny! Brother Francis!”.

The orb inhesitantly drew the child’s essence within its protective borders and gave away a satisfied wave of parental Love before visibly dimming, shrinking and splitting into two separate beings that barely read as supernatural through the armour of their – not vessels, Castiel was astonished to realise, but honest-to-God Corporations: back from the time when angels used to openly roam the Earth and their Heaven-issued bodies came pre-equipped with bird-like wings, weird-coloured eyes and built-in halos, but no internal or reproductive organs. The presumably male figure was soft and round, wearing a combination of an old-fashioned suit and cream-coloured coat vaguely resembling the ensemble Castiel himself favoured, – and holding a very convincing replica of a Principality’s Flaming Sword. The probably female was so tall and thin she looked almost cylindrical; her aggressively-conservative clothes perfectly contrasted her flaming red hair, and the big carpet bag she was carrying was such an obvious reference that Metatron’s database didn’t require verbal prompts to provide the source. 

‘Sssso, what do we have here?’ she hissed, tugging off her flashy sunglasses and focusing unerringly on Kelly’s unconscious form. The eyes behind the sunglasses were inimitable: fully golden, with vertical serpentine pupils, – but the infernal fire burning within was reminiscent of what Castiel had fairly recently seen behind the yellow irises on Dagon’s borrowed face. The entity standing in front of him now might not be a Prince of Hell – but she was definitely another Fallen. 

Castiel couldn’t fight a Fallen. Not so soon after Lucifer. Not without Jack’s help. Not when his angel blade had been reduced to a shapeless lump. The only option was to flee, but his wings, despite neither being real wings nor attached to his physical form, were hanging off his back like two dead weights, and no amount of determination could make them move, let alone lift Castiel’s vessel with the additional weight of another human body completed with a child almost ready to be born. Nevertheless, he painfully shifted upon his knees, to – rather pointlessly – place himself between Kelly and one of the most powerful occult beings known to this universe. As expected, the Fallen ignored him, her entrancing reptilian gaze never leaving Kelly’s prone form. Meanwhile, the other entity that had somehow managed to slip Castiel's mind was suddenly by his side.

‘Oh, you pour baby,’ the stranger cooed, ‘what happened to you?’

Despite the hopelessness of the situation, Castiel bristled: sure, the Fallen were literally older that dirt, so her companion must be too, but Castiel was a warrior, he had a reputation, and even the Archangels hadn’t dared call him “baby”.

‘Here, let me help,’ the ethereal teddy-bear continued in the same kind soothing voice, unconcerned. He put one hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and, having made his sword disappear, used the other, now free, hand to firmly press on a spot the injured angel could never hope to reach himself. Castiel’s battered wings folded correctly for the first time in years, and the relief brought on by sudden disappearance of constant pain upset his already precarious balance to the point he would have fallen on his face if the hand still holding onto his shoulder hadn’t carefully guided him to lean against the stranger’s side. Castiel vaguely realised such blatant display of weakness was appalling, but, judging by the kind of power the two beings in front of him could emanate in tandem, what was the point, anyway? He let his weary eyes fall shut.

‘No-no-no,’ the hand on his shoulder tightened and gave him a resolute shake, ‘you must stay awake, little one. At least until you are somewhere more comfortable. Darling, do you think we could – ‘

‘What, Angel, give them a lift?’ the Fallen replied tersely, already elbow-deep in her carpet bag. After rummaging through the content in exaggerated annoyance, she produced a toy car that, at a showy snap of her fingers, swiftly turned into a still smallish, but distinctly life-sized adorably angular brick-red automobile. Another impatient snap turned the top convertible and sent it folding neatly backwards, allowing the “Angel” (Angel?!) to effortlessly lift Castiel inside, while the Fallen preformed an impressive three-dimensional shift that made Kelly disappear from the ground and reappear on the backseat, undisturbed. Then, a mangy stuffed platypus was extracted from the carpet bag and unceremoniously handed over to the Angel, who had already made himself comfortable on the passenger seat.

‘Get in, Hellspawn!’ the Fallen barked incomprehensibly. Her celestial companion dutifully tapped the faded “Hug me” print on the toy’s once-white T-shirt, and the platypus suddenly lit up with a distinctive glow of a possessed object and sullenly crossed its limp plushy paws over its chest.

‘So, where are we taking you?’ the Fallen demanded, arranging herself behind the steering wheel and closing the door with a bang. The car’s roof hastily crawled back in place and solidified. ‘Come on, you’ve been hiding an unborn Nephilim for nine months, you must have a plan.’

Castiel considered their options, which turned out severely limited. Once born, Nephilim were supposed to be undetectable for any supernatural being, but that could take days, if not weeks; meanwhile, Lucifer’s demise couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by either Heaven or Hell. Or the Winchesters.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Castiel admitted detachedly. ‘Nowhere is safe.’

And, as if summoned by his treacherous thought, a jumbled chorus of angry voices ripped through his mind.

‘Er, Nanny,’ the stuffed platypus piped in with a terrible wheezy voice of a long-disused music box, ‘wherever we are going, we’d better hurry up. That’s his “I hear the angel radio” face.’

‘Are you sure?’ the Fallen scrunched her nose in disgust. ‘I seem to sense malevolence. What are they saying, Angel?’

‘I can’t be sure, the frequency is all wrong,’ the angel on the passenger seat replied, his eyes open wide in alarm. ‘But, considering the company policy on the Nephilim, I don’t think I would like to find out.’

‘Well, in that case,’ the demonic nanny concluded with a predatory smile, ‘we’ll all have to agree there is only one logical thing to do.’

And, with a sharp jerk of the wheel, she directed the car right into the rift.

***

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the wing thing is pretty inconsistent. I could offer a couple of bullshit explanations, but the truth is, firmly believing that angels are "waves of celestial intent" apparently doesn't stop me from having a wing kink ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

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Kelly had never questioned Castiel’s regretful certainty that Jack’s birth was supposed to kill her: at least until after what felt like ages of desperately holding onto white-hot and vibrating angelic dagger Lucifer’s body was finally, finally reduced to nothing, and she had exactly one second of thinking that perhaps she had a fighting chance before nothingness claimed her as well.

Then she woke up in an opaque bubble of complete silence – and Jack was not with her anymore.

She was also lying between bedlinens printed with ridiculous yellow cartoonish ducks and was still wearing most of the clothes she had put on that morning. All in all, it did not feel like Afterlife.

Kelly blinked, willing her surrounding to show themselves, and the bubble obediently grew more transparent, revealing Castiel sitting on a backwards chair directly in front of her bed, watching her in his disturbingly intense way. He looked naked without his coat and jacket, despite still having his perpetually pristine shirt on. An older gentleman, who looked equally pristine from the top of his silvery blond curls to the tips of his peach-coloured boots, was diligently running his soft white hands through the air around Castiel’s shoulders, littering the floor with a shower of horribly bent and singed feathers. Further back Warlock was sleeping soundly on a beanbag shaped like a giant platypus, covered with that ugly blanket of his.

Curiously, Kelly turned her head to the left and saw a crib placed strategically right next to her bed. The crib was empty, but before Kelly could feel her hope painfully crush, the bubble shimmered, and a very tall and very thin red-haired woman stepped through. She was dressed in a way that simultaneously made you think of your favourite “Mary Poppins” movie and the rumour about how Pamela Travers was, in fact, seriously into some occult stuff. She was also carrying a bundle of another ugly blanket (the tartan pattern unfortunately combined flamingo-pink and blue so bright it was almost turquoise, and was further decorated with bright colourful letters, numbers and fruit), which, now that it was inside the apparently soundproof bubble, turned out to be wailing.

‘There is no need for this nonsense, Jack,’ the “gothic Mary Poppins” said sternly. ‘See, your mommy is awake.’ She glared severely towards the bed, and the pillows, along with the solid wooden frame, obediently rearranged themselves to better support Kelly’s body in sitting position. Then the screaming bundle was carefully placed on Kelly’s chest, her arms manually moved to form the most secure hold.

‘Here is your little Destroyer of Worlds – or, at least, Eardrums. I’m Crowley, by the way. The goofball responsible for this checkered monstrosity is Aziraphale, and I suppose you know the Hellspawn in the corner.’

The “checkered monstrosity” was incredibly soft to touch and outright radiated tenderness and protectiveness. The baby within was red and wrinkled, and absolutely perfect, and also perfectly human: no wings, no horns or hooves, not a speckle of red in his vaguely blue eyes.

‘You are Nanny and Brother Francis,’ Kelly suddenly realised. ‘I can’t believe you’re real. Wait, _are_ you real? Is this real? Is this truly my Jack?’

‘Of course, he is real, why wouldn’t he be real?’

‘Well, Castiel always said I can’t possibly survive the birth of an Archangel Nephilim.’

‘Castiel,’ Crowley shook her head in exasperation and snapped her fingers, making the soundproof bubble disappear with an audible pop.

‘Castiel,’ she repeated, now that the subject of her tirade could hear her properly, ‘is the angelic equivalent of being barely out of his teens. He was also specifically created to be a soldier, so most of his training consisted of what potentially dangerous things there are and how to kill them. In other words, Castiel’s opinion on the subject is exactly as valuable as that of someone who learned about reproduction from “Alien” movies.’

Castiel looked away in shame, and the other angel patted his shoulder affectionately, murmuring something supposedly reassuring about “when dear Eve was expecting Cain”. Meanwhile, Crowley continued to orate:

‘In fact, Nephilim used to be quite common before the Flood. And, regardless of what the official sources claim, most of them turned out just fine, if handled properly. Of course, the stakes get higher when it's a half-archangel we’re talking about, but the general principle still applies. Fortunately, you had already had quite an altercation, so I easily drained the rest of his powers to create a new body for Warlock, and teleported little Jack outside to spare him the stress on an actual birth. He will recharge, gradually, but he won’t be able to actively do anything for at least a dozen years, so his body will have a chance to grow without relying on his grace to function, and afterwards he will, hopefully, be mature enough to learn control and responsibility.’

‘So, he will grow into all those powers, but for a while I get to raise him, the human way?’ Kelly whispered, overwhelmed.

‘Yes,’ Crowley replied, confusedly. ‘You don’t sound happy?’

‘Oh, no, I mean, yes, I mean, I am happy,’ Kelly sniffed, blinking away unwelcome tears. ‘That’s just, I never thought I’ll get a chance. What do I know about raising the Son of Satan?’

‘Don’t you worry, my dear, I’m pretty sure we can help with that,’ Aziraphale cut in cheerfully.

‘Can we?’ Crowley huffed, gracefully lowering herself into a rocking chair that hadn’t been behind her a moment ago but didn’t dare to disappoint the demon.

‘Of course,’ Aziraphale confirmed matter-of-factly. ‘Crowley here has a wonderful way with children. She has done an exemplary job, don’t you agree?’ And he gave a beaming smile to Warlock, who had, at some point, woken up, and was stealthily making his way closer to the main action.

‘And it’s pretty easy anyway,’ the boy supplied gleefully, as he realised he had been discovered, crossed the rest of the room in two big steps and proudly perched on the arm of his nanny’s chair.

‘You think so, my little Hellspawn?’ Crowley smiled teasingly, reaching out to mess with his hair.

‘Sure,’ the not-actual-hellspawn grinned. ‘You just tell him he’ll never grow big enough to rule the world if he doesn’t eat all his vegetables.’

*****

END

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